


Undead Liar Guy

by CantSpeakFae



Series: The Scars Souvenir [11]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Episode Revisit + Revision, Slightly AU from here, Written from Xander's P.O.V
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-27 20:21:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18198869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CantSpeakFae/pseuds/CantSpeakFae
Summary: He's going to die. Angel is going to kill him, or Spike is going to kill him. Someone is going to kill him. He's only seventeen - he doesn't want to die.





	Undead Liar Guy

The Bronze.   
  
It’s still the only hangout space in Sunnydale, so it’s where they are again. The band, tonight, isn’t as bad as they have been the last few nights and Xander is actually getting his groove on, dancing… but doing it alone, since his gals are bent over a table where Buffy’s trying to force her lips to shape the dulcid notes of the French language… and, judging by Willow’s expression, failing miserably. Well, never fear. Xander’s here. Ready to once again swoop in and save the day in the prettiest way possible.   
  
He steps back up to the table, putting on his best Xan-man pleading expression. “Guys, I’ll all alone out there. Somebody has to dance with me.”   
  
He looks more at Willow than Buffy when he says it. It’s a habit, now. They’ve moved on from Buffy’s angry phrase - and they’ve moved on well - but his eye still gets a funny little spasm when he thinks about it and it’s better to just ignore it. Of course, while Willow is /safer/ to look at, she’s also mostly impervious to his puppy dog face.   
  
“Well, we are studying.” She reminds him, tapping her finger against the books that are spread out on the table.   
  
“C’mon,” Xander begs, anyway. Anything to feel less like a loser out there. “One dance. You’ve been studying nearly twelve minutes!”   
  
Buffy perked right up at that, closing her book and smiling brightly. “No wonder my brain’s fried.” She said, rising and ignoring Willow’s protests and helping Xander haul her out of her seat and out onto the dance floor with them. “Come on!”   
  
They hit the floor, again, finding the least crowded space, and squeezing in. Buffy follows the beat flawlessly, moving her hips and running her hands through her hair, tossing it over her shoulders and closing her eyes as she loses herself in the beat. Xander dances lively but with nowhere near as much coordination or confidence in himself. Willow doesn’t really dance at all, bobs her head every once in a while, but mostly just smiles at the two of them, still enjoying herself, even if she doesn’t have much interest in it.   
  
And if Xander’s honest, some of the fun that he’d been feeling had gone out. He feels like people are watching them. Which isn’t crazy, actually. People are always watching Buffy. She has the Slayer coordination, the Slayer balance, the Slayer rhythm, and the Slayer body - whoa, bad thoughts, reel it back. But this gaze that he’s feeling isn’t… good. He tries to shrug it off as nothing, but then there’s a voice. Softly accented from the crowd, but loud enough for them to hear.  
  
“Where's the phone? I need to call the police. There's some big guy out there trying to bite somebody.”   
  
Buffy’s gone almost before the last syllable is out and Xander and Will are scrambling into action, not nearly as fast or as strong, so they have to fight the crowd with more effort than she does, and the Buffy’s already in full-fight mode by the time that they come flailing out into the alley. The vampire swings at Buffy, but she blocks his punch with ease and tosses her hair, looking back at them.   
  
She looks so strange in moments like these. Not like the Buffy that had been complaining about studying a few minutes ago, but like a warrior goddess summoned down to their squalid little streets. Out of this world. And her voice is sharp, cold, and commanding. Directing her troops.   
  
“Get her out of here!”   
  
Willow grabs the woman as Buffy turns her attention back to the vampire, swinging and punching him in the face. Xander stands in the doorway, fluttery and uncertain. Should he help her? Or would he just be getting in the way? Luckily, Buffy seems to sense that he’s still there because she shouts at him to the rhythm of the blows that she lands against the vampire’s face.   
  
“And. A. _Stake_. Would. Be. Nice.”  
  
Xander turns and runs back inside, tripping over himself in his haste and banging his hip hard into the side of the table when he goes sliding to a halt. He grabs Buffy’s purse and starts scrambling through it, searching for a stake, blindly groping and pulling up anything that his fingers encounter. Lipstick? Not a stake. Yo-yo? Cool, but not a stake. What is tha - ack! Not a stake! He drops the tampon like it suddenly burst into flames in his grasp and reaches into the purse, again, finally pulling out a stake. He turns and darts back outside.   
  
Buffy and the vampire are both looking toward the shadows and Xander shouts for her.   
  
“Buffy!”   
  
She turns, eyes still full of fire and golden hair swinging, and he throws the stake with an impressive amount of accuracy, all things considered. She plucked it out of the air with ease, and in a smooth, swift motion plunges it into the vampire’s chest. He didn’t even have time to fall all the way to the ground before he was ash.  
  
And Xander didn’t have time to breathe a sigh of relief or even realize that Willow had appeared before the clapping started. Slow and sardonic, and a man stepped out of the shadows. No fangs, no yellow eyes… but everything about him screamed dangerous anyway. Pale skin, sharply angled face, platinum hair combed back and gelled down, and a black leather coat that snaps when he gestures to Buffy with faux praise.   
  
“Nice work, luv.” He tells her, and Xander recognizes that voice from inside, the voice that announced that the vampire was out in the alley.   
  
Buffy straightened up, eyeing him warily, arms crossed over her chest, but no fear. “Who are you?”  
  
“You'll find out on Saturday.” He told her, and Xander had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Definitely a vampire, then, because no one can be as cryptic as the dead.  
  
But Buffy didn’t seem half as exasperated. Almost sounded curious when she asked the obvious follow-up question. “What happens on Saturday?”  
  
“I kill you.”   
  
And that’s all. No follow up threats. No snarling, nothing. The severity of his gaze and the calm chill rendered all three of them speechless and Xander watched him leave with his lips parted, jaw nearly on the ground.   
  
And he thinks that, for the first time since the last time, he’s scared of vampires again.   
  


* * *

  
“Spike. That's what the other vampire called him? That's a little unorthodox, isn't it?” Giles asks, flipping through one of his books. Probably looking for any reference of that name, anywhere. They’re all gathered in the library - the official hang space of the Scoobies - still shaken up from the night before and hoping that Watcher had all the good answers, or at least the manageable ones.   
  
“Maybe he's reformed.”  
  
Buffy’s joke lacks some of the usual enthusiasm. There are circles under her eyes.  
  
“Perhaps he went by another name in... times past.”  
  
“Well, whoever he is,” Ms. Calendar interjects when Giles starts to get lost in library land. “We'll need all the help we can get come this Saturday.”  
  
Speaking of which… Xander has some thoughts about the upcoming vampire lollapalooza. Like, why are they sticking around in Sunnydale if a whole army of super-powered vamps are going to be knocking on their doors?   
  
“So, this night of St. Vigeous deal.” He says. “If they're gonna attack in force, aren't we thinkin' vacation?”  
  
“We can't run, that would be wrong.” Willow chastised, but then she looked over at Giles, chewing nervously on her bottom lip. “Could we hide? I mean, if that Spike guy is leading the attack…”   
  
She shuddered, then, making an unhappy sound and drawing Giles’ sympathetic-but-reasonable expression out, as he set his book aside. Running was already a no-go.   
  
“Well, he can’t be worse than any other creature you’ve faced.”   
  
“He’s worse.”   
  
Everyone at the table jumped. Xander banged his knee against the table and turned his aggravated glare onto the vampire that made it worse. Angel. Of course, why wouldn’t that guy appear in the midst of all this crap?   
  
“Once he starts something he doesn’t stop until everything in his path is dead.”  
  
“Hmm,” Xander said, ignoring the sudden cold chill that trembled up his spine at the dire tone Angel was using. If the caped crusader of Broodsville was wigged, then maybe the running plan isn’t as bad as they were making it sound. But he goes for funny, anyway, because pointing that out seems like the wrong way to handle the fear. “So. He’s thorough, goal-oriented.”   
  
Buffy gets to her feet, looking at Angel speculatively, and Xander waits for her to ask the obvious questions: How do you know about Spike, what’s the word, who’s your source, why does your hair defy gravity like that... but that’s not what comes out of her mouth. Instead, she says -  
  
“We were at the Bronze before. Thought you said you might show.”  
  
Angel looked vaguely uncomfortable. “You said you weren't sure if you were going.”  
  
Wait, seriously? They’re going to start discussing their will-they-won’t-they thing? Right now? Right after Angel just dropped that, “He’s gonna kill you and all your friends” thing? SERIOUSLY? Xander groans internally while Buffy scoffs.  
  
“I was being cool. C'mon, you've been dating for, what, like, two hundred years? You don't know what a girl means when she says maybe she'll show?”  
  
Xander shot a glance at Willow, expecting commiseration with the ridiculous turn that the conversation took, only to find her looking wistfully thoughtful.   
  
“Wow.” She said. “Two centuries of dating. If you only had two a year, that’s still like, four hundred dates with four hundred different...”   
  
Buffy gave her a look, interrupting her in the middle of her dating math and Willow turned red, quickly switching gears and pointing to the weapon on the table.   
  
“Hey, why do they call it a mace?”   
  
Giles gently knocked Willow’s hand from the weapon that she’d been reaching for, looking just as exasperated as Xander felt, and re-cementing himself as Xander’s favourite person in the world.   
  
“Uh, we do have slightly more urgent matters to discuss.”   
  
“Yeah, like keeping my mom away from Principal Snyder tomorrow night?”   
  
“And not dying Saturday.” Ms. Calendar added, with just a touch of sarcasm.  
  
“Angel,” Giles called, looking back at his book. “Do you know if this Spike fellow goes under any other name?”   
  
They all turned to look at where he _had_  been standing, but there’s no one there and Xander rolls his eyes as he watches the doors finish swinging shut. Drama Queen.   
  
“Okay, that's it. I'm puttin' a collar with a little bell on that guy.” He muttered, darkly.

 

* * *

  
They don’t make much headway without Angel’s help and the books aren’t very forthcoming about anyone called “Spike”. Another sleepless night under his belt and a boring day at school with his focus shot and the image of a sharply angled face to haunt his thoughts, Xander meets everyone in the library and tucks in for a little pre-gaming… whittling stakes as Ms. Calendar adds wood to the pile and resisting the urge to kick Cordelia every time she huffs over the growing pile. Willow stands nearby, checking the crossbow… and Buffy stands off the side, cutting veggies for a tray.   
  
Real life collides with their after-school hobbies. It’s surreal and Xander would laugh if he wasn’t so on edge.   
  
“For three nights the unholy ones scourge themselves into a fury um, culminating in a savage attack on the night of St. Vigeous.” Giles recites, really lightening the mood.   
  
Xander fidgets, not liking the mental image place he’s sent to and looks up with an exasperated expression. “Does anybody remember when Saturday night meant date night?”  
  
“You sure don't,” Cordelia muttered.  
  
Xander opened his mouth to snap back at her, not sure where the insult will land but sure he’ll think of a direction in time, but Buffy looked up and interrupted him.   
  
“Ooh!” She squealed. “Parents start arriving in an hour. Okay, so, um, banners are in place, the lounge is comfy… what am I forgetting?”   
  
“Punch?” Willow suggested, reaching for a lump of wood to start whittling down into a point.   
  
“Punch,” Buffy repeated, her eyes widening in horror and Xander marveled at how many emergencies she could process and respond to. He’s pretty sure he would have short-circuited by now if he had to deal with as much as she does. “I need, I need punch!”  
  
Cordelia sighed, dropping her arms down to her side. “My fingers are cramping. How long have I been doing this?”  
  
Xander glanced at the clock. “Three minutes.”  
  
“So, can I go now? She doesn't need this many stakes. I mean, if this guy Spike is as mean as you all said, it should be over pretty quickly.”   
  
Cordelia Chase. Once again the epitome of grace and tact under pressure. Xander starts to reconsider kicking her and Buffy gives her a look, prompting an ALMOST apologetic expression from the Queen B herself.   
  
“We’re all still rooting for you on Saturday! I’d be there for you myself if I didn’t have a leg wax.”  
  
Yeah, great idea. Go out and get your legs waxed on the day of a full vampire killing spree. You do wanna look your best for the occasion. Maybe he’d go out and do that too. Xander fumes, silently, but Buffy just rolls her eyes.   
  
“You guys hold down the fort. I’m punch bound.”   
  
She ducks out and Xander reaches for a snack. If he’s going to be working like this, he needs fuel and -  
  
“No!” Buffy called, peeking back in just in time to catch him pillaging. He drops the snack and scowls harder.   
  


* * *

  
Xander’s the only one whose parents wouldn’t be caught dead making an appearance at something like parent-teacher night, so he’s the only one left in the library with Giles and Ms. Calendar hours later, still whittling stakes, his fingers cramping but his teeth set on edge. He’s gonna get through this - he’s not going to get Buffy  _killed_  because she needed just one more stake but he was a quitter. No way, no how.   
  
“Oh, there you are!” Giles suddenly hissed, triumphantly, startling both Xander and Ms. Calendar.   
  
Xander set the stake down, leaning closer to Giles. Did he find…?  
  
“There who is?”   
  
“Our new friend Spike. He's known as 'William the Bloody'. Earned his nickname by torturing his victims with railroad spikes.”   
  
Railroad spikes? Like… railroad spikes, railroad spikes? Those heavy, metal, sharp things that they hammer into the ground? Xander held one of those on a field trip once. He was younger, but he remembers how cold and heavy they had been… can’t imagine being tortured with one of those and finds himself wondering if “Spike” uses new ones or if there rusty when he - and that train of thought makes Xander’s stomach twist unpleasantly. And Giles is somehow breezing through, still talking.   
  
“Very pleasant. Well, here's some good news: he's barely two hundred. He's not even as old as Angel is. ...Oh.”   
  
He frowns, and Xander swallows hard.   
  
“That’s a bad look, right?”   
  
“I think your suggestion of running away this Saturday might've been a good one,” Giles said, doing literally nothing to soothe Xander’s sudden panic. Actually, if Giles is agreeing with him, then there is some badness of apocalyptic measure. He stands, staring, waiting for Giles to explain. And Giles looks up, horror in his blue eyes. “Spike has fought two Slayers in the last century, and... he's killed them both.”  
  
“Killed? Like -”   
  
Xander starts to ask, not really knowing why since it doesn’t seem like there’s any other definition and even less likely that any other definition would be wigging Giles like this. But the words don’t get all the way out. There’s a crash, just outside of the library, and screaming. Broken glass and panicked running. And it suddenly becomes very clear that Saturday just came early.   
  
“Willow! Buffy! Shit!”   
  
Xander leapt to his feet, grabbing one of the stakes and bolting for the doors, but not getting very far. Jenny jumped to action and grabbed him by his arm, yanking him back.  
  
“Xander, no! You can’t go out there! If there are vampires, then -”   
  
“We need to barricade the doors. Help me, quickly!”   
  
Giles starts to move and Xander, blindly following the order, starts to help him shove furniture against the door. The lights go out and he has to resist the urge to screech in fear and avoid making himself look like a sissy in front of Ms. Calendar, who helps the shove something against the door to barricade it.   
  
“Giles?” Xander said, looking for something. A plan, reassurance, an idea, something.   
  
But Giles just broke away from the barricade and went for the phone. He picked up but then slammed it back down, eyes wild and uncertain.  
  
“They’ve cut the phones.” He said, eyes darting around. His expression brightened, just a minute later, and he turned, looking back at the shelves of books. Typical, he thinks literature can solve anything. “Wait a minute. There’s an old boarded up-cellar behind the stacks. You can get out that way.”   
  
He turned to Xander, who stared back at him. Wide eyes and heart racing. Go out? Like into the dark? Where all the vampires are, by himself, without even knowing if Buffy and Willow are…  
  
“Find Angel,” Giles told him. “He knows about Spike, we need him.”   
  
“No!” Xander argued. “I’m not going anywhere until I know that Buffy and Willow are alright.”   
  
Giles moved forward, grabbing Xander by his shoulder and squeezing like he can force sense into him. “No one will be alright unless we get some help!”   
  
...G-man’s got a point. Xander sets his mouth into a tight line but then nods, turning and running back toward the stacks, fingers still wrapped tightly around the stake that he’d grabbed from the table. It’s all he got, so he better make it work. They’re counting on him - they /need/ him. He won’t let them down.   
  


* * *

  
The cellar is… creepy. It’s dark, it’s cold, and it smells weird. There are shadows, shapes of things he can’t see, but nothing seems to be _moving_ , so he just focuses on finding the exit. The boards that cover the exit are spaced just enough that some moonlight can get through, helping him find it, and he pulls his sleeve up over his knuckles so he can punch through the rotting boards, fingers still clenched tightly around his freshly whittled stake.   
  
It’s even colder outside. The cellar leads out to a grassy field on campus, and he can see the fence that leads out to the road, and thinks he could scale it if needed… but before he can start for it, a growl sounds out from the left and he whips around, just in time to see a body launching itself at him. They collide with a thud and all the air is knocked out of Xander’s lungs when he hits the grass, his head smacking against the dirt.   
  
Teeth snap at his skin. Xander scrambles and hisses through gritted teeth, shoving back at the body that seems determined to drive him into the ground. He fumbles, freeing his hand, and then curls it around the body on top of his, taking a deep breath and then shutting his mouth tightly when he shoves the stake into the back of the vampire, piercing its heart from behind. He closes his eyes before it turns to dust, sparing him the pain of getting  _that_ in any undesirable place, then rolls back to his feet and dusts himself off before he takes off into a run.   
  
Giles _so_ owes him one.  
  


* * *

  
Getting Angel to come with him _this_  time is much easier than the last time that Xander had to drag Deadboy from the comfort of his apartment. All he had to say was, “Buffy” and he was up and running… making it very hard for Xander to keep up with, actually. One of them actually needed to breathe, after all, and it wasn’t Captain Forehead.   
  
“You, you know a lot about this Spike guy.” Xander pants, when they reach the school. There’s a dead man lying in the grass, seemingly pulled from the window. Looks like someone’s dad and Xander swallows, hard. “So, um… you got a plan?”   
  
Angel snarls and grabs him by the throat, startling him. His eyes widen and he gasps… but he still somehow makes the joke.   
  
“Good plan.” He says, wondering if this is how he’s gonna die.   
  
But Angel just drags him inside.  
  


* * *

  
Xander can’t breathe.   
  
And not just because Angel has such a tight grip on his throat, fingers threatening to squeeze the life out of him. He can’t breathe because he’s being forced to bend over at an awkward angle, drug through the halls of his high school, where all the lights are off and the scent of death lingers in the air. He can’t breathe because he’s being forced to keep pace with what is practically a run and he can’t breathe because Angel is going to kill him. Or he’s going to let someone else kill him.   
  
Not that he hadn’t expected this, on some level. He’d always known - always _suspected_  - that Angel wasn’t the Mr. Nice Vampire that he was making himself out to be to Buffy. He always knew that one day Angel would show his real colours and betray them. He just hadn’t thought it’d be now, didn’t realize that it’d be so blatant, and didn’t expect it to hurt like it does.   
  
Xander stumbles when Angel suddenly comes to a halt and he cranes his head, able to see vampires with long poles poking them through the ceiling… seemingly for no reason? Xander’s not sure what he’s seeing, just knows that he doesn’t like it.   
  
He recognizes one of the vampires. Spike stiffens, sensing Angel or maybe hearing Xander’s heartbeat and breathing, and he turns. His expression shifts from murderous to welcoming in a second, the second that he spots Angel, and Xander wants to shriek his rage at Angel. Traitor! Evil bloodsucking motherfuc-  
  
“Angelus!”   
  
Angel wrapped his arm around Xander’s neck, forcing him to bend down lower. It’s humiliating and he can’t really see what’s happening like that. It reminds him of when he was little when he was being dragged to the nearest piece of furniture so he could take his licks from the belt and that thought doesn’t make him happy. He struggles harder.  
  
“Spike!” Angel greets him, slurring his “S”, so Xander could tell that his fangs were out and that was not a comforting thought.  
  
“I'll be damned!” Spike said. There’s a clatter - he musta tossed his pole aside - and he strolls forward, boots loud against linoleum, to greet Angel with a laugh and a _hug_. Xander is squashed up between two cold bodies while Angel’s grip on his throat tightens and Xander thinks that the bones in his neck are going to crumble.   
  
“I taught you to always guard your perimeter,” Angel said, tsking as Spike when they broke apart and gesturing with Xander. Implying that he’d been caught skulking around. “You should have someone out there.”   
  
“I did,” Spike said and Xander felt a rush of satisfaction, knowing he was probably the one who staked that guy. “I’m surrounded by idiots. What’s new with you?”   
  
“Everything,” Angel said, tone implying that he has some great secret that Spike isn’t privy to. And maybe that’s why Spike sounds a little miffed when he speaks again.  
  
“Yeah? Come up against this Slayer yet?”  
  
“She's cute. Not too bright, though.” Angel said, his tone turning mocking. The sound grates on Xander’s nerves. “Gave the puppy dog 'I'm all tortured' act. Keeps her off my back when I feed!”  
  
He laughs and Spike does, too.  
  
“People still fall for that Anne Rice routine? What a world!”   
  
“I knew you were lying.” Xander snarled out, with some difficulty. Angel squeezed his neck, hard, to try and shut him up. But Xander still spat out the first insult he could think of through the terror in his brain. “Undead liar guy!”   
  
Wrong words, apparently. Angel grabbed him by his hair, pulling hard enough to bring tears to Xander’s eyes, and then tugged back his shirt and held up his exposed neck like he was offering up a bag of chips.   
  
“Wanna bite before we kill her?” He asks.   
  
Fear like Xander’s never felt before rocks through him like a punch to the gut. A bite? Kill her? Angel’s going to eat him and then help this Billy Idol wannabe kill Buffy? No fucking way. He struggles, hard, but it’s no use. He can’t break free, can only gasp and pant and growl. (Somewhere, deep inside, the hyena screeches.)   
  
Spike doesn’t go for the invite. Yet.   
  
“I haven’t seen you in the killing fields for an age.” He says, instead.  
  
Angel shrugged. “I’m not much for company.”   
  
“No, you never were.” Spike agreed, his voice light. “So, why're you so scared of this Slayer?”  
  
Because she’s a badass. Because she’s tougher than both of you and will totally kick your asses if you eat me, you crazy, psychotic sons of -  
  
“Scared?” Angel asks, his tone dangerous.  
  
“Yeah. Time was you would've taken her out in a heartbeat. Now, look at you. I mean this, uh, tortured thing is an act, right? You're not... housebroken?”   
  
It’s a challenge if Xander ever heard one and he just wishes that it wasn’t issued while he’s the nearest mortal.   
  
“I saw her kill the Master.” Angel snarled out. “Hey, you think you can take her alone? Be my guest. I'll just feed and run.”   
  
Angel snarls and bends over Xander’s neck. A cold mouth brushing against his skin, feeling for the best place to bite and Xander struggles, hard. Not that Angel acts like he can even feel it. And Xander’s heart jumps into his throat.   
  
“Don’t be silly!” Spike says, holding up his hands. “We’re all friends. We’ll do it together. Let’s drink to it.”   
  
They both slowly lean in closer to Xander's neck.   
  
Oh god.   
  
He’s going to die. Angel is going to kill him, or Spike is going to kill him. Someone is going to kill him. He’s only seventeen - he doesn’t want to die. What’s going to happen to his mom? Tony’ll be happy, but she still needs him. And Buffy, someone has to warn Buffy… and Willow. Xander doesn’t even know if she’s okay. He can’t die without knowing if at least one of them survived this.   
  
And does dying hurt? Being bitten must hurt, but will it for long? How long until there’s nothing? And what happens when he dies? Where does he go?   
  
He’s gonna die. He’s gonna die. He’s gonna -  
  
Spike punches Angel in the face, making him stagger back.  
  
It startles both of them. Angel lets go of Xander, entirely, who straightens up - his spine snap, crackle, and popping back into alignment - and reels back as far as he can, away from both of them. His eyes are wet but his expression is angry, not upset. He’s gonna KILL Angel.  
  
Unless Spike does it first.   
  
“You think you can fool me?!” Spike snarled. “You were my sire, man! You were my… Yoda!”   
  
“Things change.”   
  
Things don’t make any sense, either. Xander stares back and forth between them, trying to understand, but getting nowhere.   
  
“Not us! Not demons! Man, I can't believe this. You Uncle Tom!” Spike snarled, reaching down to grab his pole up from the floor and rallying up his troops. “Come on, people! This isn’t a spectator sport!”   
  
Oh, hell no. Xander’s not sticking around for this. One near death experience was enough for one night. He turned and ran for the door, barging out, Angel hot on his heels and the other vampires on his.   
  
Great. Just great.  
  


* * *

  
They’re surrounded.   
  
And it’s just their luck that these aren’t the type that attacks one at a time. Xander ducks, bobs, and swerves to avoid several punches, a few kicks, and one nearly successful backhand. He swings at the body nearest to his but misses, and someone kicks him from behind. He hits the ground with a thud but doesn’t stay down long. Someone pulls him up by his neck, a woman. Brown hair and crazy eyes and Angel punches her off of him, but that doesn’t mean he forgives him.  
  
It’s over fast. Too fast. The vampires turn and run, leaving the fight.   
  
Xander watches them grimly, resisting his primal urge to chase after them and show them what he can do with /his/ teeth. The hyena wants that; the primal urge never vanished completely, but he just watches them go.  
  
Cowards.  
  


* * *

  
“So, when you gave him my neck to chew on,” Xander says, when it’s all over, when the police are swarming and his nerves are still frayed from the fight. “why didn't you clock him before he had a chance to clock you?”   
  
“I told you,” Angel said, though he really hadn’t. “I couldn’t make the first move. I had to see if he was buying it or not.”   
  
Seems so simple. The logic of a fucking sociopath. Xander just stares at him, flabbergasted.   
  
“A-and if he bit me, what then?” He asks, shuddering at the memory of cold mouths so close to his neck, the threat of death looming so real and visceral this time.   
  
But Angel only shrugged, looking unperturbed, and Xander got the sense that he wasn’t even a little sorry. That he maybe even thought it was funny, scaring him like that.   
  
“We would've known he bought it.”  
  
Xander came to a stop as Angel kept walking, watching him go, horrified at the thought. He would have let Spike _bite_  him? He really would have…  
  
“Hey!” He called after him because he can’t think of anything damning enough to say. “What’s the deal with you being Spike’s sire? What’s a sire?”   
  


* * *

  
He brings it up, the next night. The Bronze, again, partying to celebrate the thwarting of Spike and his army of fanged freaks. They’re sitting at their usual table, sipping on sodas, and watching other people dance as they nurse their bruises and sore muscles from the fight. He’d been thinking about it, all night, telling her. Switching between being worried about causing problems for her and thinking that she might kick his ass for him, at least.   
  
He finally works up the nerve and pushes his soda away from himself so that he can lean against the table and think of what to say.   
  
“So.” He says, finally. “Angel tried to feed me to Spike last night.”   
  
Willow looks shocked. Buffy doesn’t. Actually, he thinks she looks… guilty?   
  
“I heard.” She said, softly, taking another sip of her own drink. “I talked to Angel after...everything. He mentioned what he had to do to see if Spike was buying it.”   
  
“Did he mention if he had a backup plan?” Xander asked, startled to hear that Buffy didn’t sound angry. “I mean, you think that someone like Spike is going to have one nibble at my neck then say, gee thanks and be on his merry way? Spike would’ve killed me! You’ve seen how fast a newbie can drain someone and Spike’s...old!”  
  
“Xander,” Buffy said, huffing. “Angel wouldn’t have let that happen. He was just trying to get Spike close enough to -”   
  
“Trick him? His mouth was practically on my throat. How much closer could he get?”   
  
“Xander…”   
  
But there’s still not anger on his behalf. She looks embarrassed that he’s arguing with her precious Angel and he gets annoyed.   
  
“I’m going to call it a night.” He muttered, pushing himself up and out of his seat.   
  
“But Xander…” Willow said, trying to lure him back. Trying to maintain the peace, but he just shook his head.   
  
“I’ll see you later.” He muttered.   
  
He stalked out, coat folded over his arm. What was he expecting? That Buffy would take his side over Angel? Yeah, right. He didn’t have a prayer when it came to that guy. If it’d been Willow that Angel was offering, there woulda been fury. Not just from him, but from Buffy. Hell, maybe Angel would have never tried it with anyone else. Maybe it’s just him.   
  
The expendable one. The cannon fodder.   
  
 _The nightmares start that night. Over and over again. Every night, Angel holds him by the throat and offers his neck to a vampire who’s all sharp angles while Buffy watches and calls out, promising that it won’t hurt at all and Spike licks his fangs and lunges._

 


End file.
